


Left You Burning Too Long

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 22:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Shiro is back in his body, they're heading back to Earth, and there's still so much left to say between them. And then, of course, Keith asks: “… It’s not just me, is it?”





	Left You Burning Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my tumblr for the prompt: "Keith and Shiro are making out, it's intense, and Keith gets kinda overwhelmed by everything so he's like 'I need a minute' and gets a bit embarassed about it but Shiro (naturally) assures Keith that it's okay." 
> 
> If you think this fic is anything but them making out, you'll be sorely disappointed.

“… It’s not just me, is it?” Keith asks after the silence stretches between them and Shiro goes still. 

“Keith,” Shiro answers, his voice slow and careful. 

“Yeah?” Keith asks, and his voice is like honey, dark and velvet and intimate. There’s caution in his eyes following the question. 

And no. God, it isn’t just him. 

Shiro means to take all this slow. He thinks Keith means to take it slow, too. He’s only been back in his body for about a week, and they’re traveling across the universe in a long journey home, and Keith is adjusting, properly, to being leader. It makes sense to go slow. Patience, after all. Even in this, especially, Shiro has been patient. Shiro doesn’t expect or need more than that, really. Just having Keith close by is enough, he thinks, his eyes dragging along the line of Keith’s jaw as he clenches and unclenches it, biting back words— waiting. 

Maybe that’s been the problem all along. Both of them, waiting. And leave it to Keith to be the one to bridge that distance. Maybe that’s the problem: that they haven’t really talked about it, fully, haven’t acknowledged everything that hangs between them. Maybe Shiro should have guessed this is what Keith would want to ask, after touching Shiro’s shoulder with a quiet _can we talk for a moment?_ As if it could be anything but this.

Shiro shifts closer, the bed beneath him squeaking between his and Keith’s joint weight. The bed probably isn’t designed to house both of them, but this is really the only place they’ve managed to find some semblance of privacy to talk. The others, Shiro knows, are sleeping and really he should be insisting that Keith get some sleep, too. Or, perhaps Keith should be insisting that Shiro sleep— that kind of mundane responsibility, somehow, falls onto the leader. He knows Keith is more than up to the task of corralling paladins. Or, in Shiro’s case, ex-paladins. 

Something melancholy must shine in Shiro’s expression because Keith makes a soft sound and reaches out, touching first Shiro’s forehead, flicking away his hair, and then dragging down along the line of his jaw. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, and Shiro can already imagine the way he’s sorting through his thoughts, trying to think of a way to say _we don’t have to talk about it—_ without sounding wounded. 

Shiro’s mouth quirks into a half smile, something soft and tentative and despite himself.

“I want to kiss you,” Shiro tells him, before Keith’s words can surface, because maybe he’s sleepier than he thinks and his brain to mouth filter is temporarily offline, or maybe he’s found some bravery in the way Keith’s looking at him, soft and open in the purple light of the Black Lion. _It’s not just me, is it?_ Keith asked, as if there could ever be a question that he is alone in this, that Shiro isn’t right there beside him. 

Keith’s eyes widen, just a fraction, and Shiro almost starts to panic before Keith’s expression softens and his mouth quirks up into that playful half-smile of his that made Shiro fall in love in the first place. 

“Any particular reason why you’re _telling_ me that instead of acting on it?” Keith asks, and there’s a tease to his voice— which is only covering up the slight waver there, that slightest of uncertainties. 

“Just… making sure I’m not misreading anything,” Shiro answers. Shiro would describe himself as a person who willfully and happily toes the line between recklessness and caution, but in this case he wants to be sure, wants to make sure he doesn’t mess it up with Keith. It’s Keith, after all. 

“You really aren’t,” Keith says and then his smile turns shy (the other smile that made Shiro fall in love, he thinks absently). 

Shiro moves in close, slow, humming softly when Keith’s cheeks turn pink. There’s something soft and deep and dark in Keith’s eyes as he fixes his gaze on Shiro. So intensely. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to that. 

He doesn’t know if Keith has done this before. Certainly in the time he’s known him, Keith never mentioned kissing someone, being with someone. He wonders if it’s rude to ask someone if they’ve ever been kissed before. 

And then Keith’s gaze flickers down, locking onto Shiro’s lips with such open longing— and it’s over for Shiro.

Keith licks his lips and says with quiet intensity: “Shiro. Just kiss me.” 

“Roger that, Team Leader,” Shiro tells him and Keith lets out a soft, helpless giggle as Shiro’s hand slots over Keith’s hip. 

He tips forward the rest of the way and catches Keith’s mouth with his. He kisses him gently, carefully. Keith sighs out into his mouth, hands fumbling over Shiro’s body as if uncertain where to rest— first his shoulders, then the slope of his neck, then his cheeks. Shiro wants him to touch him everywhere. 

They part, slowly, after just a brief press of their mouths together. Keith’s eyes stay shut for a moment longer after they part before blinking open to look at him. 

Shiro smiles at him, can feel the way his cheeks are turning red to match Keith’s. It’s just a kiss, but he can’t remember the last time his heart hammered quite so hard in his chest. He almost feels giddy with it. 

Keith studies his face, then his mouth. Shiro watches the moment Keith’s eyes darken when he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip before leaning forward again and kissing Shiro. At first, it’s just the slide of his mouth to his, the ghosting of shared breath, and then Keith hooks his fingers against the back of Shiro’s neck and drags him in closer, pressing close to him with the smallest hitch of his breath, a soft exhale that might have been Shiro’s name. 

Shiro intends to go slowly— it’d be better for them both. But Keith is a wildfire contained within a body, unstoppable and undeniable, and every part of him that Keith touches feels like it’s burning, the drag of his fingertips against the tendons of his neck, the way his palms skirt over his shoulders, down his chest, the telltale shift of Keith’s legs as he flexes and moves to straddle his lap, like he belongs there (and god, yes, he does, he always has—).

Keith is intense, because of course he is in all things, and as he makes a soft sound and presses closer to Shiro, Shiro can only surrender to him, sighing out and cupping his cheek, his thumb skimming over the edge of his scar. Keith is sloppy, inexperienced— he can tell Keith hasn’t kissed a lot of people but he’s a quick learner, lets Shiro pillow his mouth against his, drag his teeth over the swell of his bottom lip just to hear him gasp. His body arches, his hips shift, and something jagged and raw lurches through Shiro. 

And Shiro feels like he’s never kissed anyone before, either— he feels fumbly and jittery, like he’s never even been touched before in his life. Must be a consequence of his new body, he figures, must be a consequence of floating in the astral plane for so long, touchless and weightless and incorporeal. What a way to come back into his body with Keith’s tongue in his mouth and fingers curling tight against his shoulders. He wishes he could touch him more, wishes he could pull him close, wishes—

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers into the kiss, voice thready and light and Shiro’s entire body sets on fire at the sound of Keith’s voice all twisted up with desire, with heat, with need. They break apart and Shiro feels like he’ll never be able to breathe properly again. 

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath and tips forward, pressing his forehead to Keith’s. He wonders if it’s physically possible for him to look away from Keith’s eyes. Keith’s smile is small, tentative as he brushes his fingers through Shiro’s hair, curls around his ear, swirls his fingertips down his neck in a small pattern. 

“It’s not just you,” Shiro tells him. “Uh, in case that wasn’t clear.” 

Keith laughs again and his nose bumps against Shiro’s. “Dunno, think you could make it clearer?” 

“Hmm,” Shiro hums out and leans in to catch Keith’s mouth again, kissing him long and slow until Keith turns pliant against him. He mumbles against his mouth, his teeth catching on Keith’s bottom lip, “Keith, I love you.” 

He feels Keith’s gasp for air, the way he pulls back enough to stare at Shiro. For another brief moment, Shiro feels uncertain. 

“Too much?” he asks, his smile shy.

Keith shakes his head and shoves at Shiro until he’s sprawled out on his back, Keith’s hands pressed against his chest, towering over him. His eyes are misty, soft in the purple light. 

“Say it again,” he demands and then leans in to kiss Shiro before he can actually obey. 

Shiro mouths it into the kiss, swallows Keith’s soft, hitching sounds, runs his hand down his back. God, he’s never going to get over touching Keith, never going to get used to the way Keith responds to just having him this close. 

Keith is demanding, dragging his tongue across his teeth and licking into his mouth, drawing out Shiro’s breaths, pressing down against him, body to body, his hands on his chest, then at his sides, then cupping his hips. Shiro, not for the first time, wishes he had two hands to touch Keith with, but the one will have to do— and he occupies it by curling it into the hair at the base of Keith’s neck, holding tight, angling his head up to deepen the kiss. He says it again, again and again, _I love you, I love you_ between each kiss. Keith manages a mumbled _me too_ a few times and a gasp of Shiro’s name. 

When they part again, Shiro feels breathless. Keith’s hand rests above his heart and Shiro sucks in breath, feels his chest heaving up against Keith’s hand. It’s exerting no pressure but it tethers Shiro, keeps him rooted to that spot. He’s aware, painfully aware, of every place Keith is touching him and every place he isn’t. His body sizzles with touch— the touch of Keith’s lips, his mouth, his breath, his fingertips, the air around them, gravity. All of it. 

Shiro honestly can’t remember the last time he got to make out with someone. He can remember it in theory, remember liking it, but the feeling behind it is long go, just a shadow. He doesn’t remember it ever burning him on contact like this, like just the brush of Keith’s hand along his forearm were enough to blast Shiro into space. Again, must be a consequence of returning to a body after being nothing but consciousness. Nothing can really make you appreciate the corporeal quite like being incorporeal. He remembers when people used to joke he was stuck in his head too often, and well— maybe Shiro’s always had a habit of taking a joke too far.

This, though, this is enough to undo him. Keith’s mouth is soft and when he smiles a bit into the kiss, it ruins Shiro. He gasps out quietly and feels the nibble of Keith’s teeth, the swipe of his tongue, his fingertips scraping over his skin, leaving an electrical storm in its wake. Is it possible to get static shock from a kiss? If anyone could do it, it’d be Keith, Keith electrifying him, Keith setting his blood on fire. Keith. Just, Keith. 

He’s panting when Keith pulls apart again to pepper his mouth over Shiro’s jaw, to bite at his ear, and Shiro’s brain short-circuits. Keith could just lick his face and he’d probably find it hot, that’s how far gone he is. He’s cosmically, pathetically aware of Keith sitting in his lap and just angling his hips a little more would mean— but no, he’d already meant to go slow and this is far from slow. He surrenders to Keith, groaning softly when Keith bites down at his neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but to make his presence known. He’ll let Keith set the pace. Yeah—

“I didn’t… think I’d ever feel this again,” Shiro says, meaning any of it, all of it. He can feel the weight of his body. The way his toes curl. The way Keith’s hair feels against his palm. He smiles helplessly down at Keith when he glances away from his neck and up at him, the words kept light but weighted all the same. “I didn’t know if I’d get anything again.” 

That, more than anything else, seems to overwhelm Keith. His expression fractures and Shiro’s heart kicks up a new beat, terrified that he’s upset him too much by dragging up these things. Keith makes a soft, mournful sound and ducks his head.

Shiro, with effort, manages to prop himself up, trying to catch Keith’s eyes. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” Keith interrupts, quickly, his hand lifting to touch Shiro’s face, thumb at his cheekbone. “I’m sorry. I just— I need a minute. This is all— a lot.” 

Shiro nods, feeling pathetic, his hand falling to smooth down Keith’s back. His shirt’s rucked up a bit and his fingertips skirt along the bumps of Keith’s spine, the feel of his smooth skin along his lower back. He’s obsessed with feeling Keith. 

“Too much?” Shiro asks.

“No,” Keith says, vehemently. “No, no. Shiro, _god_ you’re so…” 

Keith looks at him, his expression vulnerable and quiet. Shiro leans into Keith’s touch at his cheek and something in Keith’s expression softens, his thumb brushing along his cheekbone. 

“… You’re so…” Keith tries again but can’t seem to summon the words. He drops his hand and burrows up against Shiro, ducking his head down to press into the junction between neck and shoulder. Shiro folds his arm around him easily, holding him close. Keith’s ear presses to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Shiro says in way of apology. 

“Don’t say that,” Keith says, with feeling. “I want you to tell me these things. Just…” 

He trails off, face red. He looks embarrassed and Shiro has never loved him more. He drops his head forward, resting his cheek against the top of Keith’s head. Keith closes his eyes, sighing out and sinking against him. 

“If I’d had known, I’d have gotten you sooner,” Keith mutters, miserably. 

It’s Shiro’s turn to make a mournful sound and he turns his head, kissing the crown of Keith’s head, inhaling the smell of his hair absently when he realizes he’s allowed to do that now and not be immediately labeled a creep. 

“You found me,” he says again, quiet. “That’s what matters.” 

Keith nods and goes quiet again. Shiro waits, knowing that Keith will tell him more if he wants to. After a moment, Keith blushes and looks up at him, suddenly shy. 

“You’re a good kisser,” he grumbles.

Shiro grins and flushes, pathetically. “Yeah?”

“Don’t look so smug,” Keith mutters and pushes at Shiro’s chest, playfully. “I’ve never really done this before.” 

“Then I don’t have much competition to be a good anything,” Shiro teases, nudging his shoulder lightly against Keith’s. “Winning by default, my favorite.” 

Keith snorts. “Are you waiting for me to say something like ‘you’re the best I’ve ever had’? Cause technically you’re also the worst.” 

Shiro barks out a surprised laugh and Keith smirks a little, burrowing his face against Shiro’s neck again, breath ghosting along his adam’s apple. His mouth is curved up into a small smile, though, Shiro can feel it against his skin where it burns a mark into his very being. Has Keith always been this intoxicating to him? 

“Is it alright?” Shiro asks, more seriously. “We don’t have to do anything else, if you’re feeling overwhelmed.” 

Keith’s face flames red. “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Sorry,” Shiro says, smiling. 

Keith sniffs a bit and Shiro drags his hand over each shoulder, kneading slowly until he relaxes. 

“I’m not used to it,” Keith mutters. “I didn’t… ever really think I’d get this.” 

“It’s okay,” Shiro assures him and kisses his temple. “I’m not used to it, either.” 

Keith gives him an incredulous look but Shiro just smiles at him. Keith sighs out, eyes flickering away and then back again to study Shiro’s face. Shiro touches his cheek, thumb pressed into his scar. 

“I love you,” he tells him, because that’s easier than saying anything else. Now that he’s said it, he wonders how he could have gone so long without saying it. 

Keith’s smile turns warm, sweet, and almost too much to bear, achingly gentle. “I love you, too, Shiro.” 

After a moment, Keith pushes at Shiro until he’s on his back again and Keith straddles him again with steady purpose. His eyes are dark and promising as he looks down at Shiro, his hair falling in front of his face and framing him that way. Shiro never knew that someone could be so handsome it’d actually, literally, take your breath away and yet here he is. 

“Ready to keep going?” Keith asks him. 

“I’m ready for whatever you want to give me, Keith,” Shiro says, and knows he sounds breathless and absurd and can’t really care when Keith starts smirking at him like that, and bends down to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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